The Bird and the Wyrm

In hindsight I think I was probably hangry and tired from jetlag.

"Can you really not speak?" asked the woman. She was sitting against one of the few unoccupied bits of wall, legs crossed and hands on knees. Up until now she had been napping or meditating or whatever it was that she was doing with her eyes closed, but she’d stopped that now and I kind of wished she’d go back to it.

I think I probably also felt embarrassed about being tricked so easily.

I gave a low growl that didn’t mean anything in particular then went back to ignoring her. I was lying in the centre of the room, curled around the coffee table and your sitting cushion.

"You have an interesting friend," the woman went on, almost as if she took my growl as a reply.

I glanced at her and was surprised to not find a hint of anger or resentment towards you. Did she not care that you’d skewered her through like a BBQ stick?

"You should be wary of him. Only someone with an insatiable greed for power would agree to host a demon blade."

Of all the things she could have said, that wasn’t even something I had imagined, and for the first time I actually felt grateful that I wasn’t able to reply in my current state.

My initial reaction was anger - I don’t like it when people talk badly about my friends, especially about one who had already done so much for me - but there was also something else. A note of fear. Could she be right? And if she was, the term ’demon blade’ sounds pretty bad... But then again, maybe she was just trying to rile me up, make a mistake, or something. I really didn’t know.

All I could do was wait for you to come back.

And eventually you did, this time through the front door like usual.